


everybody wants to rule the world

by doubtthestars



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Magical Realism, Multi, Polyamorous Character, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26469613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubtthestars/pseuds/doubtthestars
Summary: Philipp is the last one that really understands what Bayern wants out of the players’ pool of magic.Thomas has to intuit it a lot more.
Relationships: Lisa Müller/Thomas Müller, Robert Lewandowski & Thomas Müller, Thomas Müller/Manuel Neuer
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	everybody wants to rule the world

**Author's Note:**

> This truly started out as a very cracky premise surrounding magic and pandemic conditions and what if all team crises had a singular cause and quickly became a treatise on why Thomas deserves to be captain which somehow ended up turning on me slightly. The point is, maybe a trophy doesn't fix everything but it certainly helps?
> 
> It's not the best characterization, it might be my first attempt at thomas POV ever? Just take it with a grain of salt. It's very poorly edited and very loose on explanation and was going to end up in my docs graveyard but all this business with david really made me feel like I had to post it.

Philipp is the last one that really understands what Bayern wants out of the players’ pool of magic. He was the perfect student and had enough intrinsic magical knowledge to marry the two traits into working for the betterment of the team, but the foundation Fips had left behind started crumbling faster than expected with every season after his last and no matter how they tweaked and added and changed their mindset, players, or playing, the instability was felt throughout.

When the brunt of the magical burden comes down on Thomas, well, he knows his strengths and he knows his teammates, so he works with what he’s got and puts his nose to the same books Fips had about a decade ago.

-

It starts with Manu becoming captain. 

He doesn’t blame him necessarily, but Thomas knew Manu viewed his magic more like a party trick. Something to only bring out when the atmosphere was light and eyes would skip on to the next spectacle just as easy. It was a byproduct of dodging Schalke’s hold was Fips’ theory, and Thomas couldn’t really argue with his logic, but at any rate, Manu made a poor vessel for Bayern’s magic and Thomas had to step up in his steed.

A promise and a contract and a half-formed idea for the new era.

“You look better.” Manuel shoots him an irritated look. His foot is in a finely-spun cage of diagnostic magic that blinks in different colors and looks nonsensical to Thomas but he had faith in their team of doctors, especially since Manu couldn’t just be blessed by Bayern’s fortitude like Thomas has been since he was fifteen.

“No, really, you do. You’re not even doing the glowing thing.” The first time Manu had participated in a team ritual he looked like something out of a Lord of the Rings movie and that was _after_ the record long closed doors meeting when he signed his initial contract.

Schalke didn’t want to give up Manu so easily. 

Even now, with every trophy and victory that chips away at the hold, Thomas can pick apart Manuel’s thread of magic when they contribute bi-annually to the pool by the way it leaves a certain sheen, by the way it makes the collective magic shudder like Bayern is rethinking on accepting the offering.

“She’s not that jealous to try to keep me injured.” Manu jokes half-heartedly, looking exhausted and his age for once. The second time around with the same injury after months of treatment and biding his time didn’t bode well. Captaincy mixed with magic and faith was a tricky balancing act. 

Magic tended to remember all of your mistakes.

“She can be vengeful though.” They meet eyes. Thomas can’t read his mind but his first thought is of Bene, and then of Ballack, even Basti hadn’t escaped unscathed. There were countless stories they could choose from in recent history and beyond. 

Teams required sacrifice, sports demanded blood. Everyone knew that.

-

He didn’t expect it to be this hard. Not that he expected it to be easy either, but the more the team fell to disharmony and frustration, the more the magic clawed into him demanding belief and penance. 

It didn’t help that he spent a fair amount of time on the bench instead of on the field. Bayern was unsteady, shaken to the core, and no amount of fans in the stadium would correct the situation. 

The younger guys had the drive and determination, some even had the magical potential to hold onto Bayern, but the amount of shuffling in positions and players for a breakthrough hadn’t worked under Ancelotti and it wouldn’t work now. Bayern wasn’t just an idea. Bayern was the belief, the grounds under their boots, the fans, and their team. 

If they couldn’t put in the work, well, teams had crumbled under that sort of curse.

Thomas knew Bayern, had been her favorite for enough time to sense what she favored, what clicked, all he had to do was convince the rest to follow along. 

So he starts with Lewy.

-

“You like being here, don’t you?” Thomas asks, knowing the answer. 

“Here...in Germany?” Lewandowski’s magic prickles at the back of his neck. It’s a side effect of his particular kind. Xabi had something like it as well, less personal and wickedly adept. They both knew how to coax Bayern to their side for a time like a high-class mistress. 

“Sure, this specific part of Germany. Munich. Bayern.” He emphasizes. Robert wouldn’t like England anyway, better for him to stay at the center of attention here. It was what he craved in his personal magic, whether it was a single person or a fanbase. 

“Yes, I do,” Lewy isn’t suited for coyness, it’s why Thomas gets along with him despite his persistence in fucking with him. Contrary to popular belief, giving in once doesn’t make it any better but it’s part of Lewy’s charm now, like his two tone hair or his goal celebration. Munich and Bayern have been good to him, but it wasn’t enough to score goals and draw eyes by breaking records. 

“I need you to do something for me, for Bayern.” His eyesight goes hazy at the edges. A small sun feels trapped in his throat. His skin too small to contain its light. 

“A pact,” his voice rasps out in a two-tone frequency that makes Robert wince.

“My magic and yours, a place at the head of this new era, named and remembered,” He feels his face contort into a sharp smile and his tongue curls around something foreign and unintelligible to his ears, but Lewy only looks more intrigued like he understood it.

“Do you accept, Robert Lewandowski?” Thomas’ arms lift up, covered in goosebumps and glowing, lined in red, like his skin will burn up if he doesn’t follow the direction. 

The strange thing is he doesn’t feel like he’s in danger at all. 

“I do,” It isn’t tentative, but he whispers, giving his due to She who is using a mortal body to make him a deal. It must be flattering or stupefying to gain the attention of a facet of pure magic. The smile sheds its edges as Thomas’ hands hold onto Robert’s face, drawing him closer and kisses him with magic pressing against his teeth and skull.

The sun leaves him in that instant and he gains control of his body in a jump start that he imagines people struck by lightning could only relate to. His body is wracked with shivers. 

“Well,” he coughs out a laugh that tastes like metal. “That’s a new one.” 

He passes out in Robert’s arms.

-

He goes in and out for an indeterminate amount of time, thinks he hears Lisa at one point and Manu at others. 

Waking up at Sabener isn’t quite as out of the ordinary as it should feel, because of course Robert decided on panicking everyone instead of keeping it to himself or driving him to a hospital like a normal person. Magical exhaustion was magical exhaustion no matter the cause. Thomas is never going over to Lewy’s house again if this is how he treats all his guests. In hindsight, it was probably a bad idea to not meet on holy ground to discuss his plan. Faint approval rings in his head, and Robert turns his head like he’s heard something in the room. 

“I’ve learned my lesson,” he says to empty air. 

“I hope that lesson was not to channel magical spirits because I haven’t had to deal with an event like that in 40 years and I need more time to contact some experts if you plan on doing it again.” Mull doesn’t look impressed. 

“I thought you _were_ an expert, Doc.” He’d rather not do a repeat performance because he feels like he was steamrolled and then wringed out like a rag. 

The bed he’s on shakes and monitors beep wildly. Everyone in the room besides Robert shields their eyes for a second, before Thomas’ heart doesn’t feel like it’s been squeezed manually by a juicer. He feels better than he did this morning, yesterday, and possibly all of last month. Sitting up and rolling his shoulders to test out what he hopes is not some sort of magical full-body colonic, Thomas finds half of Mueller-Wohlfahrt’s team looking at him in poorly-disguised shock.

“What’s the verdict, will I live?” He jokes, because if there’s anything Thomas knows how to do, it’s roll with the punches. 

“I believe so, since you were just miraculously healed of everything that was ailing you including magical exhaustion. Congratulations, Thomas, you’re defying all sound medical practice and survived being a channel to living magic without proper preparation.” Mull says dryly.

“Someone’s gotta bring some excitement to the table. Speaking of, now that Bayern has gotten intimate with my insides,” He waits for a laugh that isn’t given, but Lewy does crack a smile before going back to a worried frown. “She left some ideas behind.” He taps at his head. 

His plan will work and it has a seal of approval from higher magics than his own.

-

Manuel shows up at his house, barges in without so much as a polite hello. He’s got his “let me punch something other than a ball out of the air” look and that doesn’t instill any sort of confidence in Thomas that this conversation won’t turn ugly.

He also taps into the otherworldly magic sense left behind by his ‘possession’ and suddenly sees the problem Bayern has with her new captain much more clearly. 

“You can’t beat magic into submission.” and threatening to on his behalf, for whatever reason Manu has gotten lodged into his thick skull, wasn’t going to solve anything or help anyone.

“I can try,” He huffs, and it would be like any other time Manu had decided on something ill-advised except for the look in his eyes, deadly serious with a glimmer of something dark and determined to finish what he’s started. Thomas wishes he could talk to whatever deity decided to make Manuel Neuer magic-adept because it seemed more dangerous than should’ve been allowed.

The fact of the matter was Manu was always underestimated, no matter what your opinion of him was. It wasn’t like Thomas, who could slip by without notice until he was in the box toeing in a goal with unorthodox luck and space. You saw Manuel coming, but you couldn’t guess what he would do. 

“I’m okay with this,” He wasn’t made for this, but he can do it, for Bayern and for Manu. 

“I’m not, and you don’t have to do this. I’m captain.” His brows drop lower, lines appearing all across his face like a map of his emotions. There, Thomas knows, is a well of frustration, and over there is taut anger waiting like a loaded spring. It’s the panic, the pain that worries Thomas. 

“And I’m trying to help you.” It comes out sharper than he means it to. 

Manu grimaces. His hands are tied, and they have been since the start of the season, since they both pledged to shoulder the captaincy. There were others to rise in the ranks but the magical side had fallen to them, to Thomas especially because Bayern wouldn’t accept someone with divided loyalties no matter how much glory he could accrue for her. 

“Have you told Lisa yet?” He can practically hear Manuel holding back his other questions by grinding his teeth together. 

Thomas sighs.

-

Marriage is a funny thing. 

If Thomas had any sort of romantic bone in his body, he would say he fell in love with Lisa at first sight, but he doesn’t, so he settles for he fell in love with Lisa, no qualifier attached. 

Lisa, for all her spectacular qualities and talents is about as mundane as any person could get. She’s not _null_ or magic-repelling, but her gifts did not lie in magic of any sort, not anything obscure or subtle or quiet nor loud or explosive. It isn’t detrimental to her or her work, and he’s always held the notion that she was unnaturally good with the horses, but as far as tests and scales, Lisa barely registers. 

Thomas, on the other hand, is so magically adept that he could reasonably pick up any branch of magic with ease but all he wanted to do was play football. 

Sports attracted both fully magical and barely magical people but managers always wanted the ones who had magic to burn front and center. Of course, there’s always the unexpected, the ones who take a shining to the magic that surrounds teams, the ones who break molds by working hard.

Thomas wasn’t unassuming or unexpected. 

He had known as soon as he signed on, as soon as his feet hit the training grounds. His bones had been rewritten, property of Bayern, til death or injury did them apart. 

So when he fell in love with a girl with barely a flicker of magic and wanted to get married, well it was more complicated than one would expect. He belonged to something Lisa would never truly understand beyond the conceptual. Marriage rites were a candle to Bayern’s river of fire. 

He was Bayern’s first and Lisa’s at home. 

Thomas was lucky it had worked out as well as it did.

Lisa didn’t understand the responsibility he had to Bayern intrinsically but she understood him, the man under the magic.

That’s what he told Manu when he introduced him to Lisa. 

Now, the question was how much of that man was going to be left under the weight of Bayern’s magic.

-

“Do you think that’s possible?” Lisa cups his face in her cool hands and Thomas remembers doing the same to Lewy with a little shake of his head.

The memory is fainter the more time that passes, and that’s concerning. As if Bayern had just allowed him to remember, but then again, all the reading material Mull and Kathleen and a Dr. Ruediger who was Mull’s expert in oracles and magical channels painted a grimmer picture than a little delayed memory loss. 

“I’m not made for this.” but he was chosen. “Channeling isn’t passive magic, but it’s not like any sort of magic I know.” 

It’s bigger than what he can do on his own. Even though he had dedicated himself to football and Bayern, he had taken classes and picked up enough magical theory from Fips before he left to know he was out of his depth with this magical spirit taking over his body business. 

“You said it hasn’t happened at Bayern in 40 years or so right? Can you get in contact with the last person to channel her? Maybe it’ll help you understand this better and what to expect.” 

Thomas shakes his head. 

“It was Gerd, and they’re not sure if it would be something he remembers.” He says quietly. According to the records, it had only happened the one time and before that a handful of times during wartime. 

“Somebody had to witness it happen.” Lisa takes his hand supportively. She wasn’t one to give up easily.

Thomas laughs, “Beckenbauer, and he refuses to talk about it.” 

It had been a very short phone call and Thomas felt a rancor that didn’t belong to him for several hours after. He didn’t know what to make of it and didn’t indulge it anymore than he had to because it wasn’t his business and it wasn’t his anger.

“What about other teams. Bayern can’t be the only who had ever been channeled.” 

In all of the notes he had, there were sparse accounts, mostly historical examples. Using sports teams to funnel magic was a more modern method and they had reason to keep it secret. It wouldn’t do to have a rival team target a magical vessel. It was why team magic was spread across the whole, why he wanted to anchor Bayern to at least three others than himself. 

Other teams would have to be contacted through official channels, unless.

Thomas wonders.

-

He approaches Joshua with more trepidation than Lewy. 

Jo isn’t even out of his sweat-drenched kit when he spirits him away to one of the open physios’ offices. 

“I think you know why we’re here.” Thomas is sure no matter how much the coaching and medical staff had tried to keep it under wraps that most of the team had been clued in, maybe not in full detail, but enough to spread a rumor. An extra appointment with Mull every week wouldn’t have gotten done so quietly if there wasn’t something going around to explain it. 

Joshua was staring at him shrewdly, steadily, even as he rocked on his feet in anticipation. Thomas knew in his gut that he had to be the next option for Bayern’s magic. He could see it as the seasons went by, as he found his rhythm, that Joshua would have a place here if he willed it, if Bayern’s wishes were successful.

“Not gonna offer me fame and glory?” He puts his hands in his pockets. 

Thomas shrugs, “Not my call to make, but is that what you really want?” 

In his mind, there were two different types of footballers. Roberts and Joshuas, one would always pursue greatness and the other would have greatness put upon them. It wasn’t always clean cut but it came down to why they worked as hard as they did, why they gave their heart to the shirt on their backs. 

Jo licks his lips, blinks a handful of times, before nodding. 

“Okay, I’m ready.” He stays still.

“I have a favor to ask you, on behalf of Bayern.” Different words but the same spirit. This time, Bayern doesn’t push, but pours into him, the lights pop and something in the hallway falls. He isn’t afraid and neither is Joshua. 

“Joshua Walter Kimmich,” His hand curls around his head, smoothing down Jo’s hair. It’s easy to lean in for a whisper that doesn’t use his voice but Joshua nods with a shaky smile, like he’s trying to compose himself, to keep himself from grinning. Bayern laughs in his head with bells and windchimes and the taste of sweet air. 

“Will you do this for me?” She asks, without force but firmly. His voice still has that layered quality that had practically made Lewy’s ears bleed but Joshua didn’t seem to mind. 

“Yes, I will.” 

The brightness behind his eyes makes him blind, but he somehow knows that he’s cupping the nape of his neck, bringing him forward to kiss him on the forehead like a doting mother would. It’s more of an easing back into his body this time, he tastes salt on his lips.

Jo exhales shakily, a laugh coming out with it. 

“You’re crying,” He points out while rubbing at his own bright eyes. 

Thomas chokes wordlessly before pulling Jo into a hug. Maybe he isn’t losing himself through channeling Bayern, but finding himself instead. 

-

“‘The performance of our team in recent weeks and the results have shown us that there was a need for action.’ Have you read this shit? Kalle, Uli, and Brazzo went into a room and decided for her. Niko is one of us. This,” He throws down the newspaper. “Wasn’t the way to do it.” Thomas slumps into a chair. 

Hansi will be a better fit, will fulfill the checklist the board wants but Kovac deserved more than dissembling and media vultures picking at the leftovers. 

“We needed to change something.” Manu flicks his fingers at the edge of the paper. “He was the easiest option.” 

Thomas sits up, wary at his tone. He didn’t want to argue, had had enough of petty arguments to last a lifetime in the last couple of months between the shake up on the national team and Bayern. 

Jogi was entitled to his stupid decisions. Thomas didn’t need anybody on the internet to champion his cause. He knew his ability and worth, and he knew Jogi enough to know he wouldn’t feel an ounce of regret, no matter how many voices bellowed. That chapter of his life had ended, but Thomas still had Bayern. 

“He was willing to step up when we needed someone. That takes some sort of bravery.” 

Manu scoffs.

“He saw an opportunity and took it. Frankfurt to Bayern, that’s a no brainer. It just makes a better headline that he’s an ex-player.” 

Thomas drums his fingers against the table. They won’t see eye to eye on this, not as fresh as it is, not with everything that’s happened in between. 

“I’m renegotiating my contract.” Manu says deliberately slow as if the pace would have any less of an impact. Thomas’s insides freeze as his outsides still to match. He goes over every conversation they’ve had in recent months in a flash, sifting to find any hint of worse news. The goalkeeper hadn’t taken the national team news well, feeling the weight of being the one left behind while the squad gets younger and younger around him. 

Best in the world meant sacrifice, meant not shaking Jogi by the shoulders. 

“Okay,” he braces himself. 

“Make me the third, make me an anchor for Bayern.” 

Thomas blinks, eyes dry from keeping them open for too long without even realizing it, watching Manuel lean in with his proposition. 

“You’re kidding right?” It wasn’t possible. Thomas couldn’t just magically make him a better candidate for Bayern’s magic. That wasn’t even taking into account the feedback loop. He only came into this because he was acting as Manuel’s arm on the field. 

“I want to meet her.” Manu continues, like he didn’t hear Thomas. 

“I can’t just will her into talking to you.” Well, technically it was possible, according to other oracles, but Thomas wasn’t that sort of channel, and no amount of extra meditation exercises would change that, no matter what Mull thought. He didn’t think it worked like that with team magic anyway. They weren’t meant to be listened to; they were meant to be felt. 

“All magic is based in will.” His stare is challenging, waiting for something Thomas can’t give.

“It’s intent.” Thomas corrects him. “All magic is based on intent.” There’s a difference, however small. Manuel shrugs, shackling his wrists with both of his hands on the table. He keeps staring deep into his eyes like if he does it long enough, he’ll find her crouching in some part of Thomas’ soul. 

“I’m renegotiating my contract.” He repeats himself unflinchingly, serious as a heart attack.

Thomas wants to call his bluff, but the shiver down his spine stays his tongue. 

Manuel lets go of him and walks away with slumped shoulders.

-

It’s Mats that gives him the idea or rather, the final push that makes Thomas give into the idea that’s been brewing in the back of his mind for too long. 

“Second-hand gossip is better than nothing and you can’t get Benni in trouble so everything works out, the kingdom is saved, Manu can stop acting like he’s got a stick up his ass, and we can all breathe a little easier.” 

Thomas had been dragging his feet on the last choice, unable to shake off the doubt. 

The team had been steadily regaining their footing, but everyone seemed to be holding their breath waiting for the other shoe to drop. Interim coach, a streak of wins that weren’t anything to write home about but enough to settle the public mindset that Bayern wasn’t going to break. They were still giants and hadn’t fallen to the giant-killer just yet. 

“Thomas?” Benni calls out his name over the line, worried, nervous at the silence.

He shouldn’t feel betrayed, is his first thought. In fact, if it had been any other person, Thomas would’ve applauded the absolute masterclass in deception. Almost ten years of avoiding the subject, weaseling his way out of telling the truth by hiding it with parlor tricks. It was smart and so very stupid at the same time. 

“Thomas, are you alright?” Benni asks.

“Yeah, thanks,” He’s on autopilot, already figuring out the logistics of his next conversation with the most dangerous idiot on his team. 

“It’s all I needed to know.” He rubs a hand down his face. 

“Don’t be too hard on him. It wasn’t an easy process.” Thomas thinks about every match on Schalke ground, how sickly grey Manu would turn in the locker room those first matches after the transfer, how it gave way to bravado as the jeers and whistles turned into his personal anthem to walk out to. It would never stop, not until he retired, maybe not even then. 

A brave and noble idiot, that’s who his captain was. 

-

David doesn’t see him coming. 

“I thought it would be Serge.” He says in disbelief. The decision wasn’t delayed because there was another name in the running and Serge’s magic still carried a touch of Arsenal. David deserved this as much as a captain’s armband but that wasn’t his choice to make, this was. 

Bayern seizes him in a flash, eager to meet David without waiting for Thomas to extend the formality of asking in so many words. 

His hand is on his cheek before he knows it and David is looking at him in awe. 

“You’ve been waiting for me for a long time.” She smiles and the world is lighter at his feet, like gravity won’t be able to hold him down for long. David responds in kind, unable to resist. His hand goes up to rest on the badge over his heart. Pledging to something unsaid. Wind rustles the trees. 

Her pleasure is fizzy and made of a slowly winding honey that coats his insides in warmth.  
“David Olatukunbo Alaba, you have always been mine.” She presses his forehead to David’s and the warmth turns to fire, set alight by her love. David closes his eyes but his grin is wide enough to rival the sun in the sky. 

“I am,” His words echo in Thomas’s mind. It’s the last piece that was needed for Bayern to go on, no matter what happened to him, he could leave her to the rest now. His job was done. He had chosen the successors, the ones who would share her magic and spread it to others when the time came again, when belief waned. 

He laughed, grasping at David’s shoulders to steady himself. He laughed until he couldn’t catch his breath, tears streaming from his eyes in joy. 

Bayern would survive.

-

Thomas finds Manuel in the annex attached to the dressing room. 

“You’re not turning over a new devout leaf are you?” It wasn’t quite a habit, but he had noticed him wandering into the small room more frequently lately after games. 

“Well, when your best friend turns into the living embodiment of the team, figured it wouldn’t hurt to spend some time here.” He waves a hand towards the unlit trio of candles, and they spark to life. Winter was settling in, making the days shorter. The walls are red in the tradition of all devotion rooms and reflect the light oddly, making everything feel smaller, intimate and sinister all at once. 

“You’re not making offerings, are you?” Individual offerings weren’t really expected, but were welcome if a player felt like it was a particularly good game or if they were looking for a boon to break unlucky streaks or move up from the youth team to the first. Stadiums even had special days and times for fan club members to offer up their magic to their teams. 

“No, I think it’s been made pretty clear she doesn’t like me.” He shrugs. 

It was as good a segue into what Thomas had to say as any. 

“She wouldn’t like anybody with your history. You weren’t made for anybody but Schalke.” 

“Ah,” Manu makes a noise, “you talked to Benni then. I thought maybe Boa had gotten fed up. Wishful thinking, huh.” There’s a careful amount of levity that Manu treads. It serves him well to be the one making jokes, to bluster his way through everything that matters so no one will expect more than what they’ve already gotten. 

“You could’ve told me.” He’s not angry. He doesn’t think anger really covers what he felt before, but he isn’t angry now. 

“What exactly was I supposed to say. The rumors are true, I single-handedly cursed Schalke into the state it’s in? I ruined my boyhood club by refusing the destiny it demanded of me? I think magic is more of a curse than a blessing?” He spits out the questions in rapid succession. 

Thomas ignores the blasphemy, because all he really hears is the guilt.

“Schalke doesn’t need you to be its savior or to blame yourself over the past. How many players do you think Schalke has gotten over the years after you were gone? Any one of them could’ve been chosen to fix what was broken when you left.” 

Manuel’s shoulders climb higher.

“You know, you know the power she holds, you’ve felt it. Schalke chose me, and I ran. Her magic is still here even though I tried,” He voice cracks, swallowing loudly in the silence. “I tried to give it to Benni and Ralf and Julian before I left but,”

“That’s not how your magic works,” Thomas finishes the sentence for him. 

“No,” He agrees bitterly. 

If Thomas was to put his innate magic on one end of a scale, then Manu’s would be the direct magical opposite. Instead of inherently having enough magic to spare, he worked like a battery, absorbing the magic in his surroundings, except he had stumbled upon a perfect source so early on, that there was no way of separating the two.

“Are you going to leave?” He asks and only gets an incredulous stare in return. “Your contract negotiations,” He prompts further, just in case he needs more of a clue. 

“No, no, that was-” 

“You, trying Uli’s patience?” 

Manu smiles wryly, “You’d make a better captain.”

“Good thing I don’t want to take it from you then.” It’s the truth, Thomas doesn’t want the armband, doesn’t need it to feel important or to get things done. He’s good as is, at the heart of Bayern rather than its head. He would rather have Manuel’s back than take being captain away from him. 

“Thomas,” His ordinary name is transformed into something indecipherable and complex, layered in gratitude, admiration, and something else they don’t have time to explore, may never have the time to unpack in the midst of everything. 

It hangs there until Thomas shoves at his shoulder, barely touching him with three of his fingertips, and Manu looks away, rocks on his feet like he wants to move into the touch but thinks better of it. Finally, he steps back, eyes back on him, trusting him to not acknowledge the break in composure. Thomas won’t, he hasn’t yet, but soon. 

“Don’t worry, I have an idea.” He smiles slowly, showing his teeth.

-

It’s December and Hansi is politely trying to dissuade them.

“This is a high price to pay for no guarantees.” He shuffles through the papers, mostly filled with statistics and probabilities. Magic could theoretically be boiled down to numbers, if you were smart enough. There are components that aren’t calculable but this sort of vow was standard in certain circles, wasn’t breaking league rules or international convention. 

If it backfired, it would be down to the person making the promise, not the team. 

“She believes in you.” Thomas says lightly. 

Hansi looks up at him from the sheet, scrutinizing in a familiar way to everyone who has been in the national team with him. The looks says are you able to do this, will you do it for the sake of everyone.

“And I, in her. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I believe in the team and the players we have. The work doesn’t stop because of this magical pact.” 

“No, of course. It’s just an extra incentive for us.” Manu adds, only to have Hansi’s laser eyes on him for a moment before a nod is given.

“Be careful,” Hansi warns.

-

Of course, no one expects a pandemic to throw a wrench into things.

-

“This is good.” Thomas points to the schedule. It’s their last week of playing with a visit to Gelsenkirchen and their last game for the indeterminate future on home soil. Ideal conditions despite the global current events. 

“It’s scary, how much you’re channeling Philipp right now.” Manu rubs at his temple. 

“Fips isn’t dead or a facet of magic tied to the team, so I’m really not. I’ll take the compliment, even though he didn’t devise a way to integrate you into the team magic fully after, what six years? That’s all me.” Thomas winks. 

“I’m sure his ears are burning, somewhere.” He responds dryly, but Thomas knows a win over Philipp is to be celebrated not maligned by sarcasm. 

“Not to interrupt, but why do you need us all here for this?” Boa says amused, standing by Robert. It’s not the whole team, but enough of them to warrant suspicion. The unofficial player’s council gathered in a loose circle without any real supervision to speak of, things were strange enough as it was. 

“An offering,” is all that’s needed to get a reaction. 

“We need at least seven but twelve would be better. It’s voluntary and it wouldn’t take any more than the usual time.” Thomas continues easily, feeling confident he’ll get enough of them to agree to the proposition. Everything would fall in place. They just had to weather the unexpected storm.

There’s more murmuring and glances traded around the group. Lewy crosses his arms, Joshua scratches his nose and Serge kicks him lightly before raising his eyebrows at him. 

“Why now?” Thiago asks.

“We’ve been winning, besides the Leipzig match,” He flaps a hand around making a dismissive face, “but that’s Leipzig, and we didn’t concede anything. No matter what happens with the next two games, it’s an ending, a standstill. We’ll show Bayern we’re committed, that we’ll wait.” 

There’s a hush of contemplation. Not everybody can afford to wait, he knows, but there are enough eyes that don’t stray, that are open to the idea.

“What does that have to do with Bayern accepting Manuel?” It’s Leon that speaks up, breaks the silence. He stares at Thomas, then beyond him, before looking down at his shoes.

He would be interested. Schalke hadn’t washed off him yet. 

“It’s a separate request, if everything works out.” He doesn’t elaborate. Everyone who needs to know has already been informed. 

Funnily enough, magical oaths like these were a lot like marriage rites.

-

“You know what this could turn into?” Robert has a silent laugh written all over his face. 

“You’re not the one taking the vow, and why did I get stuck with you instead of Joshua?” Ritual cleansing didn’t need an audience, but it was tradition, and everyone had thought it best to stick with the tried and true methods, just in case. Thomas rolls his eyes when Robert tries to leer but only succeeds in looking bug-eyed.

“I’m witnessing, my magic is binding the vow, along with Josh and David’s. _Lending my strength_.” He says carefully, like he’s rehearsed it. Thomas hopes David and Jo have as well. Even with the caveats in place, he thinks having a united front would have better odds of it working. 

“And,” Robert continues without letting Thomas get a word in, “Manuel needs more support than you. I assume that’s why they chose to watch over him instead of leaving him to me.” He shrugs lightly. 

That particularly cat had been let out of the bag too early. 

“Unless you have something to tell me about Lisa?” Lewy probes, and Thomas laughs in his face. Thoughts redirected to safer waters. 

“No, she doesn’t want to swap partners for a night.” He says for about the 50th time. 

“Shame, you know Anna isn’t the jealous type.” Lewy eyes him critically, before deciding he passes muster, picking a piece of fluff off of the shoulder of his robe. Evening had already come and gone so he had to rely on Robert to lead the way as he put his hood up. Tradition came with too many rules.

But there was something to be said to the hush and mystery, facing a similarly robed Manu. 

They stood there, with only their bare feet poking out from the robes. One eternal moment in the dark. A fire roared to life to their left courtesy of Joshua. 

It was time to begin.

-  
He gets back late, takes a shower even though he already took one earlier in the day, and crawls into bed as quietly as he can. Evidently not as quiet as he thinks because Lisa is already stirring under the covers.

She turns, reaching out blindly to feel him, confirming somehow that he’s in one piece, that he’s still Thomas coming into her bed. 

“How did it go?” She asks muzzily, still shaking off sleep. 

“Fine,” it comes out as a whisper caught in her hair as he gathers her in his arms, tucking his head down, reassuring himself, realigning his orbit back to normal. Thomas doesn’t think he’ll be able to fall asleep, even though he knows he should be tired, is exhausted, but somehow still running at full speed. 

“Thomas,” He squeezes his eyes shut. 

Love doesn’t sound all that different even when said by different mouths. 

Lisa’s hand reaches back, slides under his jaw to his shoulder to rub there until he lets a shuddery breath escape him.

“I’m here,” He holds onto her tighter.

-

Nine straight wins since getting back, and the shield to show for it. The league was always nice to win, but it only felt like the beginning of a countdown to Thomas. 

They had proven themselves champions time and again, had Bayern’s name engraved so many times on the shield that she could probably wield it in battle. It was an accomplishment but it wasn’t the accomplishment. It wasn’t the whole deal. 

“How do you do it?” His leg bounces with nerves. 

“How do I do what?” Robert pulls at his beer, looking at him askance. 

Thomas had said he wouldn’t come back until Robert learned how to treat his guests, but it seemed fitting, days away from the cup final, less than a week until the fire in his belly would either extinguish or continue to lick away at his bones. 

It wasn’t Bayern in him anymore. It was just Thomas, wishing for more.

“Your _talent_ , how can you-” He bites his tongue. How does he sit there, content in being wanted, picking and choosing when to act on it. 

Robert opens his mouth, closes it, then sprawls further into the couch, like a cat claiming a perch.

Thomas couldn’t and wouldn’t ask anybody else, it would take too long to go through the details, to divulge everything this single season had taken and the rest beyond that. Holger wouldn’t understand, Basti wouldn’t see the problem, and Philipp would break down the problem into an even bigger one. 

“It isn’t compulsive, and it isn’t permanent.” Robert says with something like sympathy in his eyes. 

“Don’t give me that. Mats is the worst gossip of any squad.” He knew both statements were true. Thomas didn’t magically fall into bed with him. He wanted to, and Lewy’s magic couldn’t produce something that wasn’t there to feed. Nothing was permanent, but it wasn’t supposed to be. 

Lewy purses his lips.

“You can’t compare that with your situation. I’ve made mistakes with letting go of people, or holding onto them.” He frowns, looking into space.

“You and Neuer, magic didn’t factor in at the start, don’t let it interfere now.” 

Thomas shakes his head. 

“Have you told Lisa?” Robert asks, without even a hint of slyness or jest. 

“Told her what?” He’s told her everything he can. It’s just the things that he can’t find the words to explain that drive him to ask the worst influence in his life. It wasn’t Bayern;it wasn’t magic. All roads had led to this long before the trouble started. Manu wasn’t a symptom, he was the end goal. He was--

“Did you just figure it out?” Lewy smiles crookedly, eyes brighter without the needling and pushy mask he trotted out for the rest of the world. 

“I guess you are good for something.” Thomas says, laughing.

“Make me your best man at the wedding.” Robert says fast enough that Thomas suspects he’s been waiting to use that line on him for a while. 

“Not a chance, I’ve already had one wedding and that’s enough for me.”

-

The Pokal final starts with David scoring from a freekick and Thomas feels something break in him, shake inside him like a winged creature waiting to take flight. They may have been in Berlin, but Bayern was alive and well under those stadium lights. He could feel her eyes on them. She was waiting in the empty stands, on the pitch, in their hearts.

The Cup feels lighter than other years. 

He meets the eyes of every anchor. 

They were that much closer, with the second trophy in hand and another month to prepare for the next phase of the third. 

1, 2, and 3 are the only numbers that matter now.

-

“Tell me what will happen if you win.” Lisa pulls him close. 

“I can’t,” He’s not really superstitious, but this isn’t something he wants to leave to chance.

“What do you want to happen then,” She insists. 

“I don’t know, I can’t imagine it without being there, and there’s still so many games ahead of us. Barcelona in Lisbon, the first hurdle, then two more teams after that.” They could end up playing fucking Leipzig for all they knew. They could crash and burn at the first turn of Messi’s foot. It was too difficult to predict.

Thomas closes his eyes. 

Faith was a funny thing, small and large all at once. 

She kisses him, stealing his breath with it. 

“I’ll be here, Thomas, no matter what. Do you understand?” She doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t say anything he doesn’t already know, but somehow it makes things clearer. 

“I love you,” It wasn’t magic, it wasn’t anything but certainty that he belonged with this woman, just as he belonged on a field with Bayern’s crest on his chest. He was whole like this, but Thomas had always wanted more than what was in front of him, had made a career out of it. 

Lisa smiles against his lips, “I know.”

-  
It’s his ball that goes in past Marc. 

The match has barely begun, and already there are firecrackers sizzling under his skin. Robert gives him the ball back, he gets past Jordi Alba and it goes straight into the back of the net despite Marc diving for it. Serge immediately jumps on him to celebrate but all he feels is adrenaline mixed with euphoria. The first goal, but it can’t be the last.

It’s only a few minutes after when David heads in a ball in their own net trying to clear it away from Suarez right beside him. 

Thomas’ blood freezes as he sees both David and Manu hit the ground, both in despair. 

They had to keep going. The game was a long way from over. 

Messi tries and hits the post. Leon finds a cross from Phonzie and it gets cleared by Lenglet. Thiago takes the ball from the Barca midfield with ease and Messi tries again but this time Manu knows where to stand. 

They press and Serge leaves the ball to Perisic who scores and minutes later it’s Serge’s time. Thomas doesn’t stop yelling to the heavens, a drum in his chest instead of a heart. 

He trips over Lenglet after his second goal, legs giving out before he gets back up. It’s nothing like he imagined and yet it is everything he could’ve hoped for. 

And it’s only the first half.

They knock out Barcelona from Champions but more than that, they look strong. They look like they can knock every other team out of the way with enough willpower.

-

“Is it some sort of magic?” Serge asks, half-seriously as they leave the pitch with a clean sheet and the Final on the horizon. 

“No,” He says with certainty. Bayern’s magic didn’t have anything to do with Serge’s double, or Lewy’s header. Bayern’s magic didn’t help them win. She helped them find their team. They had gotten there on their own merit while carrying her name all along the way. 

They were a world away from the last time they had been in a final. There was no Robben and Ribery, no Mandzo or Schweini. There was now Gnabry and Kimmich, Lewandowski and Thiago. Manu as captain instead of Philipp. Hansi instead of Jupp.

It had been seven years.

And in four more days, they would get the chance to fulfill their promise to her.

When the time comes, it’s down to Manu. The thought only comes to him afterwards, after the adrenaline has ebbed and the frustration and the joy. After the confetti rained down and the heavy tug of the medal was ever-present as they all shouted, danced and ran around. 

Kingsley had been unmarked and in the right spot to get the ball in, but in the end it was a test between goalkeepers. 

Manuel had been the key between winning and losing, between giving in and pushing forward. 

The stadium is quiet. All the noise is contained to their celebration inside. 

“It’s not that much different, being out here after the lights have been shut off.” He can just barely make out the center circle underneath the confetti still on the ground. David, Joshua, and Serge were out there. He suspects Jo had tried to make his own deal with the magic that tied them all together, with how attached at the hip Serge and Jo were since the final whistle had blown. 

“What happens now?” Manu radiates heat, standing beside him. 

“We keep going.” 

-

Like a precursor for things to come, Robert takes a picture with the trophy in bed.

“You couldn’t resist, could you?” He didn’t even look mildly hungover, the gluten-free asshole. 

“It’s been subjected to worse things than hotel sheets. Besides, I thought Leon did an excellent job with the framing.” Lewy looks entirely too smug to deal with properly. Thomas shakes his head just barely. They were probably lucky he hadn’t somehow instigated something more unfortunate in the locker room last night. 

“Don’t break him, Joshua’s small but he’s got a lot of anger under there.” Thomas doesn’t want to know exactly what was going on between them, or Serge or David, but it didn’t take much of an effort to see there was _something_. 

“It’s nothing you have to be worried about. What happens with the trophy, stays with the trophy.” 

Thomas narrows his eyes, “No, it doesn’t.” 

Lewy shrugs, backing away.

“Fine, he’s too nice to be _permanent_.” Thomas thinks of reiterating his warning, but Lewy is too high on his own strange magic that he wouldn’t listen until it was too late anyway.

“It was like sleeping with your clone from the neck down, wasn’t it?” Robert would invent a whole new way to be narcissistic to celebrate winning the Champions league. He laughs, but it’s the laugh of someone who knows comeuppance is only a short while away. His hand pats his shoulder in commiseration.

“Worry about yourself, Thomas. The rest of us will survive until then.” 

The trophy travels around multiple times on the way to the airport, and then on the plane itself. Thomas doesn’t need it to be seated next to him or in his lap to believe it’s truly there, that they’ve done it. 

The win is still humming through his veins. 

He doesn’t need to touch something, to believe it was real.

-

Bringing the trophy home--to Munich, to Bayern--is the last piece of the puzzle falling into place. He can feel the impact of the vow, the magic, can see some of the same in the others who had pledged themselves to her five months ago. Everybody was here now, in the dressing room to give their due, from Cuisance to Zirkzee to Perisic to Tapalovic. 

Hansi says some words. There’s a reverence to the moment, stripped away from the giddiness of last night. 

It doesn’t matter if his arms are tired, if his legs are tired, because the mass of shining magic they produce carries him the scant meters to kneel before her and offer all of it, all of him. 

The light is different, softer this time. 

Manuel is the only one left in the room when he returns. He looks wrong, sitting there without his gloves and kit. 

He stands as Thomas approaches, lifting his chin to show he wasn’t afraid. 

“I wanted...” he swallows.

“I know what lies in your heart, Manuel Peter Neuer.” His dissonant voice makes Manu step back. His arm shoots forward, grabbing him by the shirt. Thomas is in control now, or at least has enough of it to freely move, to give. 

It isn’t like with the others.

Manu glows in cool silver in contrast to the molten shine of Bayern’s hold on Thomas. He chokes minutely, gasps and shudders as magic flares between them. Hers is stronger, rejuvenated by the treble, and bolstered by Thomas’ love for Bayern and Manuel himself. Schalke was in the past, and the future was clear here, between them. 

The kiss burns their mouths, their throats, everything they are from the bottom of their soles to the hair on their heads. It is agony and ecstasy. They are pieced together, swimming in the wave of their magic combined

The comet force leaves behind a regular room and them, wrapped together, breathing quietly.

“Your plan worked,” Manu’s voice is scratchy, low.

Thomas blinks away the last glimmers of gold from his eyesight. He’s whole, no longer sharing space in his body with something that shouldn’t be contained inside flesh and bone. The idea had always been a gamble, a miracle he had to shape with his faith in Bayern and Bayern’s faith in him. 

“You still have her,” His hand is splayed out over Manu’s heart, “but you belong here.” 

“Here,” He echoes Thomas with a smile that threatens to stick permanently with how wide it is, “with you, or with Bayern?” 

He kisses him again, simply for them without any magical purpose or reason. This time, it isn't filled with electricity or fireworks.

It's coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> “We all know where we've come from this season,” Bayern forward Thomas Müller said. “There are no secrets, we just kept moving forward. Obviously we have a lot of quality in the team, but we also have the spirit. The boys are prepared to suffer.”


End file.
